Seven Deadly Zins
A CALIFORNIA WINE COUNTRY MYSTERY
Nancy J. Parra
This one is for my family and friends, who put up with the time it takes to write a book.
Acknowledgments
I always say it takes a village to make a book, and that becomes more and more true with each book I write. Thanks to the Crooked Lane folks for the beautiful covers, fine editing, and patience with the writer. Thanks to my agent, Paige Wheeler, for finding me wonderful opportunities. Special thanks goes out to my family and friends for understanding that to get a book ready, I might have to take time away.
Thanks to my readers who are my dearest friends. Together we build stories and enjoy the characters in my head.
Chapter 1
“When are you going to put my winery on your tour list?” my friend Tim Slade asked. Tim owned a winery south of my Aunt Jemma’s winery in Sonoma County, California. He was a tall guy with a slender build and blond hair. He often stopped by my aunt’s tasting room to hang out and discuss the wine business.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to do that,” I replied. “I thought you didn’t like people.”
He shrugged. “I’ve changed my mind. When’s your next tour?”
“I’ve got a group tomorrow,” I said. “I’m taking them up to the sculpture garden at the Sonoma County Museum. Then we have a tour of the Charles Schultz Museum, with stops for wine tasting on the trip up and back.”
“So squeeze my winery in,” he said.
“Your place is south of here,” I stated.
“And your point is?” He leaned against the tasting room’s walnut bar, awaiting my answer. I had poured him one of Aunt Jemma’s zinfandel wines, which he’d swirled before taking a delicate sniff and tasting it.
“The point is, I would have to go out of the way to bring them by your place. I can plan a tour for next week that goes south.” I had started my Off the Beaten Path wine country tours to highlight the wonderful hidden gems in Sonoma County. It was perfect for anyone who loved wine tasting, arts, or outdoor activities. My business had picked up quite a bit lately, and I was enjoying finding new places to bring my customers.
“Next week.” He pressed his hand to his chest as if he would have a heart attack. “You’re killing me.”
“I usually plan a tour for a specific group,” I said. “For instance, the group I’m taking out tomorrow are all cartoon fans and want to see the Charles Shultz Museum. It’s tough to compete with Charlie Brown and his friends.”
“Are the people who take your tours likely to join wine clubs?” he asked. “Because I can find someone to dress up as a Peanuts character if that’ll bring in people who’ll join the wine club.”
Wine clubs were the main business for smaller wineries like Aunt Jemma’s and Tim’s. After a tasting of a variety of local flavors, the sommelier would offer the tour group exclusive memberships in the vineyard’s wine club. Customers would pick monthly wine selections and get free tastings for the year. It encouraged them to come back, buy more, and hopefully bring a friend.
“I don’t think I can fool them by driving south and showing up at your winery to see you in a Charlie Brown costume,” I said. “That said, you finished picking grapes this week, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “Why?”
“My Thursday group is filled with enthusiasts interested in the process of making wine. You can show them your vats and your lab where you test the sugar content.”
“That might work,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “Would there happen to be any investors in your group? I might be in the market for a sponsorship.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought you were happy as a sole proprietor.”
“You do know how to make a little money with a winery, don’t you?” he asked.
“Why don’t you tell me?
“Start with a lot of money,” he said and saluted me with his wine glass before taking a sip.
I laughed. “Very funny.”
“Taylor, I’ve been looking for you,” Aunt Jemma said as she pushed through the doors to the tasting room. She appeared to float over to me—her colorful caftan brushed the floor so low, you could barely see her feet.
Aunt Jemma was my mother’s sister, and when she’d had a heart attack in the spring, she’d convinced me to move to Sonoma from San Francisco, to look after her. In reality, she was healthy as a horse and only had a symptom if I talked about how my boss from San Francisco kept calling, trying to get me back to the city and my high-paying job in advertising.
Aunt Jemma was also a bit of a character.
“What do you need?”
“I have a séance scheduled for this evening, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind joining the group.”
“Okay,” I said with a tilt of my head. “Why?”
“My psychic, Sarah, couldn’t make it. You have good energy. I thought you could stand in for her.”
“If Sarah isn’t going to be there, who is leading the séance?”
“I could,” Tim said and shrugged. “My girlfriend, Mandy, knows a psychic who taught me a few tricks.”
“I think you need to stay out of it, young man,” Aunt Jemma said. She put her hands on her hips. “You’ll scare the ladies away with your antics.”
“Antics? I never …” He attempted to look affronted, but it didn’t work, and I burst out laughing.
“Tim is trying to convince me to take one of my tours down to his winery.”
“I’m trying to get some notoriety for the smaller, scrappier vineyards,” he said and raised a blonde eyebrow. “You should back me on that.”
“I agree we need better marketing,” Aunt Jemma said. She turned to me. “You were in marketing, right? Can’t you do some kind of social media something to help us out?”
I made a face. “I was in advertising, and I thought you all were working with the other bigger wineries in the region, to share the wealth.”
“We are,” Aunt Jemma said with a shrug. “But Tim’s winery has some of the oldest zins in the USA. That’s something you could tell your tour groups.”
“Here, here,” Tim said and raised his glass.
“That’s the best part of my business,” I said. “Really, trying to get people to see beyond the commercial wineries and look at the great Northern California art, hikes, parks, and smaller, quirkier wineries.”
“Quirkier?” Tim asked.
“Well, Aunt Jemma’s place is famous for its previous owner being a witch, and now we offer séances.”
“Ghost hunting is all the rage,” Aunt Jemma chimed in. “Oh, I know, we could set things up as a haunted winery. Bring out those new-fangled cameras and recorders, and have a few great investigations.”
“So that’s what the séance is really for?” I asked. “To draw in spirits so you can get people to pay you to do ghost investigations around the winery?”
Aunt Jemma’s eyes sparkled. “You could use your contacts to get us on television. We could do one of those ghost hunter shows, and then people would be coming out left and right to visit and buy our wine.” She placed her hands inside her sleeves. “We all know that once they taste it, they’ll buy. We simply need a hook to get them into the tasting room.”
“Here’s to a hook,” Tim said, lifting his glass again. He swallowed the contents and motioned for more.
“Are you driving home?” I asked.
“Mandy’s picking me up,” he said. “She had some kind of thing in town.”
“What is Mandy up to now?” Aunt Jemma asked.
“Who knows,” Tim said with a shrug. “She’s always trying some trendy diet or New Age spiritual guidance. Last week she declared she would only eat non-soy tofu.”
/> “Wait,” I said, “is that a real thing?”
Tim shrugged again. “All I know is I’m not eating it.”
Tim was so much into gourmet cooking that he had spent a month in France—twice—to take classes at Le Cordon Bleu cooking school.
“I hardly think tofu is food,” Aunt Jemma said. “I can’t imagine soy-free tofu being a staple in any diet, let alone mine.”
“As long as I can cook,” Tim said, “I’ll make anything that pairs well with wine.”
“Hmm,” I chimed in, “I wonder what wine would pair well with soy-free tofu?”
“I imagine that would depend on how it’s cooked,” Aunt Jemma said and tapped her chin. “A rosé perhaps, or a pinot grigio if it’s cooked with garlic.”
The door to the tasting room opened, and Mandy came in, looking flushed and rosy. I had to admit I was a little jealous of her. She was a year younger than me, and California blonde. She was all of five foot two inches and lucky to weigh one hundred pounds. She wore leggings and a tunic top and over-the-knee boots. Tim had found her on an online dating site about a year ago. She’d moved in with him on their third date. And why not? She had gone from struggling actress to pampered woman of the house, and Tim had three houses.
When he said you had to start a winery with a lot of money, he wasn’t kidding. He’d made his fortune in the original dot-com boom. He was ten years older than me and inclined to dabble in whatever struck his fancy.
“Hi all,” Mandy said and gave Tim a kiss on the cheek before she climbed up on the bar stool next to him. “I just came from this seminar in Sonoma. Dr. Adam Brinkman was the speaker.”
“Him again?” Tim asked and poured himself more wine. “That’s the fifth time in three weeks.”
“I like him,” she said and thrust her lower lip into a pout. “He has some great ideas for spiritual healing. I went down to Orange County to see him a few months back. He took the entire auditorium full of people on a guided meditation and then started healing people. The man is gifted.”
“Healing people?” I asked as I poured her a tasting of the pinot noir.
“Yes,” she said, and her eyes went round with wonder. “This woman came in on crutches and left practically running from the room. It was a miracle. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I was running from the room as well when I saw how much that nuttiness was costing me,” Tim said.
“It was worth every penny,” Mandy said without skipping a beat. “I closed my eyes and felt this warm healing energy flow up from my feet to the crown of my head. Then there was this angelic voice that told me I was destined for fame and fortune.”
“Wow,” I said and gave Tim a suspicious look. He shrugged.
“I know,” Mandy said, her eyes wide. “That’s when I knew I had to convince Dr. Brinkman to come to Sonoma. I told him all about our town. He was interested, so he came up here and fell in love with the area.” She raised her chin proudly. “Now all I have to do is attend the next five sessions, and he promises I’ll learn how to follow my destiny.”
“Your destiny?”
“You know—my spiritual path.”
“Your spiritual path is fame and fortune?” Aunt Jemma asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Dr. Brinkman thinks that all any of us need to do is to change the way we think, and all our dreams will come true.”
“Change the way you think?” I asked.
“Yes, what you think goes out into the world. Transforming your thoughts transforms your life so that you live your destiny … your true life.”
“And you change your thoughts by doing what?” Aunt Jemma asked.
“By thinking positively. It’s called the law of attraction. You attract what you believe. I believe in fame and fortune, so I’m sure it will come my way.”
“Interesting,” Aunt Jemma said. “Do you think you can change your destiny?” Her expression was one of wonder. I felt like mine must have been one of disbelief.
“Yes,” Mandy said.
“For only fifteen hundred dollars a session,” Tim said with a snort.
“Well, it costs money to learn how to change,” she said. “But Dr. Brinkman says if you follow your dreams, you can earn back more than triple what the sessions cost.” She leaned in and waved her wine glass. “He thinks I’ll be a natural to teach others about the miracle of positive thinking. People will look up to me—me, Mandy Richards.”
“So will you be traveling the world?” Tim asked.
“What? Oh, no, baby,” Mandy said and leaned into him. “I’m going to star in Dr. Brinkman’s videos. The residuals will be fantastic.”
“Here’s to the power of positive thinking,” Tim said and touched his wine glass to hers. “I’m positive I can get Taylor to schedule some of her tours to visit our winery.”
“Oh, how fun!” she said and turned to me. “Timmy’s appellation needs more exposure.”
“That way I can finish the remodel of the house,” Tim said, “and keep my Mandy happy.” He winked at her, and I rolled my eyes.
“I’ve never heard of Dr. Brinkman,” Aunt Jemma said and frowned. “Where is he from?”
“He’s from Los Angeles,” Mandy said. She opened her purse and pulled out a flyer. “One of my actress friends told me about him. He’s done amazing work with some very famous people. See?” She handed Aunt Jemma the paper.
“Huh.” Aunt Jemma pulled out a pair of purple reading glasses and studied the paper. “He does séances.”
“Oh please,” I said and took the paper. “We don’t have the kind of money he would want to do a séance.”
“I guess that means you’ll have to help me tonight, then,” Aunt Jemma said. “See you at eight. Oh, and wear something mysterious. Bye, Tim—good luck, Mandy.” She left me shaking my head.
“Are you really going to run a séance?” Mandy asked as she sipped her wine.
“I’m not going to run it,” I said. “All she needs is an extra body for a full table. I can sit and hold hands for a while.”
“While wearing something mysterious.” Tim raised his right eyebrow. “That’s something I’d like to see.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I said.
“Come on, Timmy,” Mandy said as she put down her wine glass, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go home. I need to do my homework before the next seminar.”
“Let me know when you schedule the wine tour,” he said. “I’ll try to have something special for them to see.”
“I bet you will.” I wiped down the bar top and prepared to close the tasting room. Tim was right. He and Aunt Jemma put a lot of work into the local wine organizations. The least I could do was schedule a tour or two for his winery.
Chapter 2
“Oh, Taylor, there you are,” Aunt Jemma said. “Do come in—we are getting ready to be seated.”
I was wearing a maxi dress and sandals. It was the closest thing I had to Aunt Jemma’s flowing caftans. I hoped I looked mysterious enough. “Hello, I’m Taylor.” I introduced myself and took my seat at the small round table. There were four other ladies there to make a table of six. Aunt Jemma had set up the séance in the library just off her family room. There were two winged-backed chairs and an end table and floor lamp on one side of the room, and a small desk, where Aunt Jemma did the paperwork for the winery, sat on the other side. In the center was the round séance table. It was big enough for six chairs to go around it, yet close enough we all touched knees, if not hands.
“Taylor, this is Marion Wells, her sister Susan Applegate, Kelly Blue, and Jeanne Fellow. Ladies, my niece Taylor.”
“So nice to meet you,” Marion said. She was a handsome woman with champagne-colored hair. “We’re here to try to reach my father, Buddy Jones. He promised that if we did a séance on the anniversary of his death, he would come back and tell us something very important.”
“I love that we get a girls’ night, good wine, and a little fun,” her sister Susan said wit
h a wink.
“Okay, ladies,” Aunt Jemma said. “Please be seated while I light the candles.”
They pulled out their chairs and took a seat. Aunt Jemma lit candles around the room and turned off the lights. “All right, let’s hold hands. Please, whatever you do, don’t break the circle. If you do, the energy will be lost.”
We all clasped hands with the persons beside us. Suddenly, the tablecloth moved as something landed in the middle of the table. Jeanne shrieked and I jumped. The surprise was my cat, Clemmie.
“Clemmie,” I said as I stood and grabbed my silly orange and white cat I’ve had since college. “I’m sorry, ladies. She likes to be the center of attention.”
“Oh, no need to apologize,” Marion said with a chuckle. “I have four cats at home. I know how curious they can be.”
“Daddy loved cats,” Susan said.
“Maybe Clemmie knew he was around and wanted to say hi,” Jeanne said.
“I’ll be right back,” I said and left the room. I knew I would hear about Clemmie later. Aunt Jemma liked to pretend she was annoyed with Clemmie, and Clemmie liked to pretend she didn’t like Aunt Jemma, but I’d walked in on them at lunch one day. Clemmie had been sitting on the table sharing Aunt Jemma’s tuna fish salad.
“You are one naughty kitty,” I said and carried Clemmie into her favorite bedroom and closed the door. “Stay in here until we’re done, and I’ll get you special treats.”
Clemmie jumped out of my arms and stalked off to go into the closet.
“I wish I could be hiding in here with you, too,” I whispered. I closed the door and turned to find someone standing behind me. I might have screamed a little.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you,” my best friend, Holly, said. “The door was open, and I let myself in. I thought you were locking your doors these days.”
“I thought we were too,” I said and gave her a quick hug. “You look good.” Holly was an all-American beauty with long brunette hair and a figure to die for. She was also very good with makeup and fashion. She told me once it was because she worked at La Galleria, an art gallery. It seemed in the art business, being as fashion forward as possible was expected by her boss and her customers. Frankly, I think she would have worked at a dress shop if it gave her something to dress up for.
Seven Deadly Zins Page 1